Several years ago, while working as an editor at another paper, I came across a letter published on the op-ed page that advocated hatred toward gays and lesbians and blamed them for the downfall of society. It was an especially appalling letter, and it had no business being in a newspaper.
I fired off a letter to the publisher that, in essence, said I would resign rather than work at a publication that promoted hatred toward a particularly vulnerable group. Everyone, I noted, was entitled to their opinion, even uninformed bigots. That did not, however, mean we had to print it.
The publisher apologized. Never again did I read such hateful trash published by a reputable newspaper company.
Until now.
Every day, newspaper Web sites, in an otherwise laudable attempt at increasing readership, encourage folks to comment on a particular story. Some sites, such as the New York Times', diligently monitor the posts, often before they are allowed to be published. But too many sites are operated by people who feel that comments should flow freely. Why, they argue, should we censor hatred as though it doesn't exist? If a post is untenably inflammatory, readers can punch a button reporting the comment. A monitor, often someone doing several other jobs simultaneously, might find the time to strike it.
That simply won't do. Why? Because comments laced with invective against particular groups can lead to unspeakable horror. Or have we already forgotten about the Holocaust?
Today, The San Diego Union-Tribune's site posted an Associated Press story about Supreme Court nominee Sonia Sotomayor and her infamous "wise Latina" speeches. The floodgates were opened for all the racists in the world. Read for yourself:
Why do Latinas not Mexicans women peake at 15 years of age. After 18 they gey wore out.
or...
Wise Latina. What an oxymoron.
and...
how presumptive to assume that latinas are wise?
Nothing I say or do will keep these morons from being their bigoted selves. But we don't owe anyone the courtesy of spreading their ignorance. Fact is, it is irresponsible to publish such comments. And shame on those who allow this hatred be spread.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The thrill is gone
How bad can it get? Apparently plenty, as Gannett Co. announces it will cut up to 2,000 more jobs in the coming week. That's in addition to the 3,600 other positions already lost. On a lesser scale, the St. Paul Pioneer Press continues to shed jobs from its incredibly shrinking work force, and Freedom Communications (Orange County Register) boss Burl Osborne (formerly of the Belo's Dallas Morning News) announces across-the-board paycuts of 5 percent. (I wonder what ol' Burl is getting paid after the cuts?)
And my friends wonder why I took a break from blogging about the business.
But the time off has led me to reflect on my three decades in journalism. In particular, it has led me to reflect about those incredibly long hours at my first job, a weekly in northern San Diego County that no longer exists.
We had a tiny staff - three news reporters, a photographer a graphic artist and an editor - and the pay was shit. $150 a week, if I recall correctly, which came out to about $2.50 an hour. But I was young and couldn't believe people would pay me to write. Reporters never hesitated to ask for or offer suggestions on how to phrase a sentence, paragraph or story. We never worried about being criticized for taking chances. And we never thought twice about our commitment to the profession.
Paying rent, buying gas and eating even the basics was sometimes a challenge on a salary that paid less than the minimum wage, but it didn't matter. We loved our job. We loved what we did. And we dreamed about the future.
Today, with the future very much in doubt, I often find myself wondering if the thrill is gone.
And my friends wonder why I took a break from blogging about the business.
But the time off has led me to reflect on my three decades in journalism. In particular, it has led me to reflect about those incredibly long hours at my first job, a weekly in northern San Diego County that no longer exists.
We had a tiny staff - three news reporters, a photographer a graphic artist and an editor - and the pay was shit. $150 a week, if I recall correctly, which came out to about $2.50 an hour. But I was young and couldn't believe people would pay me to write. Reporters never hesitated to ask for or offer suggestions on how to phrase a sentence, paragraph or story. We never worried about being criticized for taking chances. And we never thought twice about our commitment to the profession.
Paying rent, buying gas and eating even the basics was sometimes a challenge on a salary that paid less than the minimum wage, but it didn't matter. We loved our job. We loved what we did. And we dreamed about the future.
Today, with the future very much in doubt, I often find myself wondering if the thrill is gone.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Bummer
It's been awhile, but when the NBA playoffs kick in and the Lakers go on a run, my priorities change. Now that the postseason has ended with yet another NBA title for the purple and gold, I'm back. At least until the Dodgers reach the postseason.
On a more somber note...
When you spend 30 years in an industry, you make a lot of friends and even more acquaintances. And never in my years in newspapers have I seen a greater sense of despair among journalists than today. People who were commited to this business just months ago are looking for work elsewhere. Reporters who have spent years refining their craft are ready to take their skills someplace they feel they will be appreciated. And to be brutally honest, much of it is due to the utter lack of leadership in a profession that failed to see the potential impact of the Web and compounded that failure with inaction once it became apparent.
People are fed up. Scared. Resigned to a future in which they feel the priority is rapidly shifting to quantity over quality. And until they see some sort of leadership from folks who get paid a heckuva lot more than me, the exodus will continue.
Me? I'm still celebrating another Lakers championship.
Besides, it isn't all bad news. According to this story, the Union-Tribune's Web site is one of the better ones around. Or at least not one of the worst.
On a more somber note...
When you spend 30 years in an industry, you make a lot of friends and even more acquaintances. And never in my years in newspapers have I seen a greater sense of despair among journalists than today. People who were commited to this business just months ago are looking for work elsewhere. Reporters who have spent years refining their craft are ready to take their skills someplace they feel they will be appreciated. And to be brutally honest, much of it is due to the utter lack of leadership in a profession that failed to see the potential impact of the Web and compounded that failure with inaction once it became apparent.
People are fed up. Scared. Resigned to a future in which they feel the priority is rapidly shifting to quantity over quality. And until they see some sort of leadership from folks who get paid a heckuva lot more than me, the exodus will continue.
Me? I'm still celebrating another Lakers championship.
Besides, it isn't all bad news. According to this story, the Union-Tribune's Web site is one of the better ones around. Or at least not one of the worst.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Goodbye
His first job in the industry was delivering newspapers. That led to a job delivering newspapers to the guys delivering newspapers. That was followed by a job as an inserter in the packaging department, which led to a job in the pressroom. A year or so later, he was working in the color separation lab before landing a position as a staff photographer. Before long he moved on to The San Diego Union-Tribune, where he served as photo editor for the past several years.
Mike Franklin was a lifer. And a leader. A couple weeks after I began working at the old Times-Advocate in Escondido, the editors needed someone to fill a Friday night shift on the cops beat and decided I was ready for it. I had never covered cops before, and while I was perusing a cheat sheet that listed the various police radio codes, the scanner began lighting up with reports of a hostage situation and a police chase. I was like a deer in headlights. Suddenly the code for "shots fired" blared across the radio, and Mike - then a staff photographer at the paper - appeared like a vision and calmly said, "Let's go."
I had no idea where the hell we were going, and before I could grab a Thomas Bros. guide, Mike pulled me by the arm and said he'd drive. In no time, we were in his Jeep en route to a cul de sac, where police had just killed a bank robber - and his hostage. When we got there, the bank robber's body was in a pickup. The body of his hostage - a young woman - lay in the middle of the street.
Cops weren't talking and Mike wanted me out of the way. "Why don't you go talk to those guys and see if they know anything," Mike said, pointing to a pair of middle-age men in oil-covered clothes. So I did. Good thing, too. Turns out they had been working on their car when they saw the drama unfold, leading to the fateful decision of an officer to shoot the hostage as she tried to escape, in the mistaken belief that she was in cahoots with the robber.
I tell this story because Mike is no longer working in the industry. He was given a layoff notice a couple weeks back and his last day at work was today. He'll probably freelance for awhile, maybe longer. But the newsroom for me will never be the same. When I saw Mike, I often remembered that crazy evening some 26 years ago, an evening that made me grow up - fast - as a reporter.
Mike was one of nearly 50 people in editorial who lost their job in the recent round of downsizing, and each of them left their mark on this industry. Each of them helped make their community better. None of them deserved to become victims of a dying industry. Some of them left yesterday. Most left today.
I'll miss them all.
Mike Franklin was a lifer. And a leader. A couple weeks after I began working at the old Times-Advocate in Escondido, the editors needed someone to fill a Friday night shift on the cops beat and decided I was ready for it. I had never covered cops before, and while I was perusing a cheat sheet that listed the various police radio codes, the scanner began lighting up with reports of a hostage situation and a police chase. I was like a deer in headlights. Suddenly the code for "shots fired" blared across the radio, and Mike - then a staff photographer at the paper - appeared like a vision and calmly said, "Let's go."
I had no idea where the hell we were going, and before I could grab a Thomas Bros. guide, Mike pulled me by the arm and said he'd drive. In no time, we were in his Jeep en route to a cul de sac, where police had just killed a bank robber - and his hostage. When we got there, the bank robber's body was in a pickup. The body of his hostage - a young woman - lay in the middle of the street.
Cops weren't talking and Mike wanted me out of the way. "Why don't you go talk to those guys and see if they know anything," Mike said, pointing to a pair of middle-age men in oil-covered clothes. So I did. Good thing, too. Turns out they had been working on their car when they saw the drama unfold, leading to the fateful decision of an officer to shoot the hostage as she tried to escape, in the mistaken belief that she was in cahoots with the robber.
I tell this story because Mike is no longer working in the industry. He was given a layoff notice a couple weeks back and his last day at work was today. He'll probably freelance for awhile, maybe longer. But the newsroom for me will never be the same. When I saw Mike, I often remembered that crazy evening some 26 years ago, an evening that made me grow up - fast - as a reporter.
Mike was one of nearly 50 people in editorial who lost their job in the recent round of downsizing, and each of them left their mark on this industry. Each of them helped make their community better. None of them deserved to become victims of a dying industry. Some of them left yesterday. Most left today.
I'll miss them all.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
It's all Vin Scully's fault
As I sit here watching the Dodgers on MLB.com while listening to Vin Scully call the game, I'm reminded of why I decided to get into journalism in the first place. Because of baseball.
Back when I was a kid, I didn't just listen to the games. I lived them. I kept score. Meticulously. I jotted down notes. And as soon as a contest was over, I would plop a piece of paper into my old Olympia typewriter and start writing a game story - on deadline. In the morning, I'd check my piece with what the hacks were printing in the Los Angeles Times. It was then that I realized I could make a living as a sportswriter. It was then I realized that I wanted to be a newspaperman.
Somewhere along the way, sportswriting gave way to covering city councils, school boards and the police beat, but it was the Dodgers, and more specifically Vin Scully, who inspired me into this line of work.
It was a choice I never regretted. Not even with the apocalypse upon us. But I find myself much more subdued than I ever was. I find myself often thinking of the thousands of journalists who have been laid off over the past few years, many of them friends of mine. And I find myself often thinking of the dozens of co-workers who will soon be leaving from the Union-Tribune.
To prepare for deadline writing by listening to the radio back when Maury Wills was still playing shortstop for the Dodgers requires a passion that you cannot fake. Yet what is happening today is sorely testing that passion, and I have found myself wondering if there are other careers - teaching perhaps -that I should transition to before my middle age years are up.
But then I listen to Vinny and fall back into my bedroom, circa 1970, typewriter atop a milk carton, stubby little fingers flailing away. That I never put the teddy bears in a row of chairs and pretended to present lessons in history underscores where my passion lies.
A journalist I am. For now. And it's all Vin Scully's fault.
Back when I was a kid, I didn't just listen to the games. I lived them. I kept score. Meticulously. I jotted down notes. And as soon as a contest was over, I would plop a piece of paper into my old Olympia typewriter and start writing a game story - on deadline. In the morning, I'd check my piece with what the hacks were printing in the Los Angeles Times. It was then that I realized I could make a living as a sportswriter. It was then I realized that I wanted to be a newspaperman.
Somewhere along the way, sportswriting gave way to covering city councils, school boards and the police beat, but it was the Dodgers, and more specifically Vin Scully, who inspired me into this line of work.
It was a choice I never regretted. Not even with the apocalypse upon us. But I find myself much more subdued than I ever was. I find myself often thinking of the thousands of journalists who have been laid off over the past few years, many of them friends of mine. And I find myself often thinking of the dozens of co-workers who will soon be leaving from the Union-Tribune.
To prepare for deadline writing by listening to the radio back when Maury Wills was still playing shortstop for the Dodgers requires a passion that you cannot fake. Yet what is happening today is sorely testing that passion, and I have found myself wondering if there are other careers - teaching perhaps -that I should transition to before my middle age years are up.
But then I listen to Vinny and fall back into my bedroom, circa 1970, typewriter atop a milk carton, stubby little fingers flailing away. That I never put the teddy bears in a row of chairs and pretended to present lessons in history underscores where my passion lies.
A journalist I am. For now. And it's all Vin Scully's fault.
Monday, May 11, 2009
I don't like Mondays
To all my colleagues at The Union-Tribune who will be out of work come July, fear not. There is ample opportunity for working journalists, as evidenced by a piece in The New York Times today about Chevron hiring a former award-winning CNN reporter to do its own investigative piece on the company once the conglomerate discovered 60 minutes was looking at some of its questionable actions in Ecuador.
OK, it was a puff piece fronting as news. But it's work.
Speaking of work, looks like it's not only newspapers and television stations that are going down the toilet. Playboy magazine today announced it lost nearly $14 million in the first quarter this year, yet another victim of free content on the Internet. Ad revenue plummets. Subscribers flee. Subscription rates rise. More with less. Stop me if you've heard this before.
And on a related note, the News Corp., among the leaders in the industry to force people to pay for stories that are damn expensive to produce, says it will introduce a micropayment system, enabling readers to pay for individual articles, instead of a full subscription. Good luck.
And it's only Monday.
OK, it was a puff piece fronting as news. But it's work.
Speaking of work, looks like it's not only newspapers and television stations that are going down the toilet. Playboy magazine today announced it lost nearly $14 million in the first quarter this year, yet another victim of free content on the Internet. Ad revenue plummets. Subscribers flee. Subscription rates rise. More with less. Stop me if you've heard this before.
And on a related note, the News Corp., among the leaders in the industry to force people to pay for stories that are damn expensive to produce, says it will introduce a micropayment system, enabling readers to pay for individual articles, instead of a full subscription. Good luck.
And it's only Monday.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Noticed
The commute to work this morning was similar to the commute to work every other morning: Hop on the trolley at the Alvarado station near La Mesa, plug in the Ipod and pull out The New York Times. On this morning, a particular story caught my attention, a story about the mental anguish that managers at small and medium sized businesses endure when deciding who will lose their jobs when layoffs become necessary.
"Charlie Thomas III, vice president of Shuqualak Lumber in Shuqualak, Miss., had to dismiss nearly a quarter of his work force, which used to number about 160 employees, at the end of October. He also dismissed a handful of workers in January.
He wrote out a speech for the announcement in October in front of his men, whom he told to gather in the lumberyard. Midway through delivering it, Mr. Thomas had to stop and go back into his office to compose himself.
“I couldn’t get it out,” he said. “It just killed my soul.” "
It was a poignant piece detailing how layoffs at small businesses were more personal - like telling a brother he was being let go. But what was especially intriguing to me was a discussion about the factors that are considered when managers decide who to lay off.
"In the management team meetings, each member, armed with an employee roster by department, suggested workers to be cut. A vote was taken on each worker. Some got reprieves; others were added to the list.
A premium was put on workers with diversified skills. One employee was saved because he happened to have a commercial driver’s license, so he could make deliveries as well.
There were impossible dilemmas: what to do about two equally valued employees when one was single and the other had a family to support; how to balance an employee’s talent against his cost."
It's been well known for months that layoffs at my job with The San Diego Union-Tribune were imminent. We were informed of that fact earlier this year. And, in case anyone forgot, Louis Samson of new U-T owner Platinum Equity said as much in a question-and-answer piece on the front page of the paper the day after the sale was completed.
"We expect some immediate restructuring to stabilize the business in the near term. But the ultimate goal here is to make only those cuts necessary to stabilize the business, and then to focus on growing revenue," Samson was quoted as saying.
So I knew my job was on the line. After reading the New York Times piece, I knew that my future had been discussed by managers with much more authority than me. After reading this piece, I felt I had a little more understanding of the factors that would go into deciding whether I would soon have to start looking for employment elsewhere.
As it happened, I learned my fate 15 minutes after arriving at work. Layoffs were being announced. People were being pulled into offices for private discussions. Before the day would be over, more than 190 people - including about 40 in the newsroom - were told they would be gone in 60 days.
Many, many of my friends were told they were being laid off. Many, many of my friends shed more than a few tears. Many, many of my friends will soon no longer be threatened journalists, but instead former ones.
"Charlie Thomas III, vice president of Shuqualak Lumber in Shuqualak, Miss., had to dismiss nearly a quarter of his work force, which used to number about 160 employees, at the end of October. He also dismissed a handful of workers in January.
He wrote out a speech for the announcement in October in front of his men, whom he told to gather in the lumberyard. Midway through delivering it, Mr. Thomas had to stop and go back into his office to compose himself.
“I couldn’t get it out,” he said. “It just killed my soul.” "
It was a poignant piece detailing how layoffs at small businesses were more personal - like telling a brother he was being let go. But what was especially intriguing to me was a discussion about the factors that are considered when managers decide who to lay off.
"In the management team meetings, each member, armed with an employee roster by department, suggested workers to be cut. A vote was taken on each worker. Some got reprieves; others were added to the list.
A premium was put on workers with diversified skills. One employee was saved because he happened to have a commercial driver’s license, so he could make deliveries as well.
There were impossible dilemmas: what to do about two equally valued employees when one was single and the other had a family to support; how to balance an employee’s talent against his cost."
It's been well known for months that layoffs at my job with The San Diego Union-Tribune were imminent. We were informed of that fact earlier this year. And, in case anyone forgot, Louis Samson of new U-T owner Platinum Equity said as much in a question-and-answer piece on the front page of the paper the day after the sale was completed.
"We expect some immediate restructuring to stabilize the business in the near term. But the ultimate goal here is to make only those cuts necessary to stabilize the business, and then to focus on growing revenue," Samson was quoted as saying.
So I knew my job was on the line. After reading the New York Times piece, I knew that my future had been discussed by managers with much more authority than me. After reading this piece, I felt I had a little more understanding of the factors that would go into deciding whether I would soon have to start looking for employment elsewhere.
As it happened, I learned my fate 15 minutes after arriving at work. Layoffs were being announced. People were being pulled into offices for private discussions. Before the day would be over, more than 190 people - including about 40 in the newsroom - were told they would be gone in 60 days.
Many, many of my friends were told they were being laid off. Many, many of my friends shed more than a few tears. Many, many of my friends will soon no longer be threatened journalists, but instead former ones.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
